


Eighteen Hours, Four Tasks, and a Kilt

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comedy, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Frottage, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-25
Updated: 2007-11-25
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: As Harry & Hermione wed, best man Ron Weasley has four important tasks to complete.  However, a new relationship commands all his brain cells and energy.  Oh dear.





	Eighteen Hours, Four Tasks, and a Kilt

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Written for the LJ comm "Triatha_Ron" in March 2007 for Team Slash.

  
Author's notes:

My eternal thanks to aome and magicofisis for the last minute advice when I was in a panic. Thanks to them, you’re getting fun and smut instead of angst and Snape. They cleaned this fic up and made it much, much better. All remaining mistakes and stupidity are mine.

 

 

* * *

*~* 7:32pm Friday night.  A posh London hotel.  A wedding rehearsal dinner.

 

“Ron!”

Ron whipped around, sloshing his butterbeer in the process, to find a smiling and devastatingly handsome Oliver Wood holding a glass of something amber and elegant in an equally elegant hand.  A shiver traveled south when Ron realized Oliver was also wearing a kilt.  And of course, a kilt meant – 

“So how have you been?” Oliver asked, and giving Ron a devastatingly wicked smile and a bone-crushing handshake.  “Merlin’s balls but it’s been a while, yeah?”

For several heartbeats, Ron’s thought processes slowed to a crawl.  _Oliver Wood is talking to me!_

“Oh, erm…Fine, yeah.  Doing just fine, thanks,” Ron stammered.  “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Probably not since right before the war.  Speaking of which, you’re quite the hero.”  Oliver took a drink of the amber and smiled again.

“Oh, well, sure.  You know, I did what I could to help Harry.”  Ron wished desperately for something other than a half-empty bottle of butterbeer and sweat- and butterbeer-sticky hands.

“Much more than that.  I heard very good things about your strategies and such.  And, of course, your Quidditch skills for Gryffindor are legendary.  ‘Would not let the Quaffle in!’ he sang.  

Ron shivered involuntarily again.  Godric’s ghost, how Ron loved a bass-baritone.  And he was pleased no end that Oliver knew about The Final Game fifth year! _Urgh, I wonder if he knows about the Ravenclaw game….”_

“. . . So what are you up to now?” Oliver’s smooth voice cut through Ron’s musings.  “Why aren’t you playing professionally?  We always need good Keepers.  In fact I’ve been hearing Kenmare might be looking for a new Keeper.  And Puddlemere is in need of a decent reserve. Harry tells me you were a brilliant Quidditch strategist during sixth year.  Said you channeled me a bit.”  Oliver kept rocking rhythmically on his heels, causing the pleats on his kilt to sway gently. Something else is probably swaying too …

“Oh—Really?  Harry said that?  Uh…well, I thought about it for a while—you know, the Quidditch, but I needed to be there for my parents and Harry and Hermione, so instead I worked at Hogwarts,” Ron babbled, desperately trying to keep his mind off of Oliver’s gently swaying … pleats.  “McGonagall needed some older students to help out with starting the school up again, and … _Why am I saying all this shite?? Oliver doesn’t care what I’ve been doing, for god’s sake._

But the thing was, Oliver looked like he _did_ care, and was quite interested in what Ron was saying.  Ron shifted the topic.  “Wait, did you say Puddlemere needs a reserve?  Who are you playing for now?”

“I went with Appleby this season.  Got fed up with waiting for Craney to retire or get killed or whatever.”

Ron didn’t miss a beat.  “You were always much better than a reserve player, Oliver.  You should’ve gotten a chance to play first team long before now.  ‘M glad Appleby has recognized you’re a right fine Keeper.”

The sincerity of Ron’s assessment of his skills was not lost on Oliver.  “Why, Ron,” he said, a bit choked up. “I had no idea.”  He put his hand on Ron’s arm.

“Well, yeah.  You were always so brilliant for Gryffindor.”  _Oh god, he’s touching me!_ “And I…everyone told me I was a lot like you,” he finished lamely.

“Yeah, I heard that.”  Oliver moved in closer to him.  “I think that’s smashing.”

Ron felt a delightfully wicked shiver run at Firebolt speed to the tips of his toes and up to the tips of his ears and down again to the tip of his cock.  “I’m really glad Harry and Hermione decided to invite me tonight,” Oliver whispered into Ron’s burning ear.

Ron inclined his head to absorb Oliver’s heat.  “Yeah, me too.”

*~* 9:47pm  Same posh London hotel

Oliver pushed Ron up against the wall of the cloak room, kissing him for all he was worth.  Ron wasn’t not sure how they’d ended up like this, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain.  Not in the least.  Because, damn! Oliver could kiss.  Light, feathery kisses followed by long, lingering full-lipped kisses segued into tentative, teasing tongue touching and then full-on, full-out, open mouth, slobbery exchanges of saliva.

Ron was in heaven.

Oliver’s hands were as suave as his lips.  They started with touching all the safe zones: hands, wrists, chest.  Then they moved ever so cleverly to his waist, the tops of his thighs, the small of his back; they slid slowly to the pert apex of his arse _Thank Merlin for those exercises!_ and then to the hard length in front.  Oliver’s fingers were not only elegant, but strong and sure.

“God, Oliver,” Ron groaned. Ron’s hands slid up under the kilt to find, not surprisingly, hardened quads that were quivering at his touch, and an unobstructed and equally stiff cock.  Ron palmed it tentatively, and receiving an appreciative and encouraging moan from Oliver, he took the length fully in hand, pumping it long and hard.

Oliver mimicked his motions and worked the buttons on his robes at the crucial point.  One, two, three—part the cut in the boxers and Ron’s aching cock sprang free.  Oliver coated his palm with the precome and –

“RON!”  The door to the cloakroom banged open, light flooding the darkness.  Hermione stood silhouetted in the doorway, her arms spread.  “Ronald Weasley!  There you are!  You’re supposed to be giving the best man’s speech right now.  Harry needs you!  I need you!  What in the –“

Hermione’s screeching was cut off by the sudden and providential appearance of Harry Potter, who hugged his intended to his chest and kissed her soundly.  Ron always thought Harry’s ability to cut Hermione off mid-rant was the true “Power No-One Knew Not”, a talent that he, Ron, was always terribly grateful for.  After a rather lengthy passionate buss, Hermione smiled prettily and goofily up her beloved.  Harry whispered in her ear, gave her a sweet smile, and shooed her away.

Harry looked over his glasses at Ron and Oliver, who were still in mid-clutch with Ron’s hands up Oliver’s kilt and Oliver’s hand—somewhere south of the border, as far as Harry’s perspective was concerned.  “Hey, I hate to break this up, because God knows I’ve listened to the both of you whinge about your not getting enough, but Ron, your services are required, and for both our sakes, you really need to be at the dinner sooner rather than later. Ok?”

“Um…right.  I’ll be right there,” Ron said.

“I’ll get him there in a second, Harry,” Oliver added.

Harry nodded and closed the door, but not before giving both a brilliant smile and a thumbs-up.  Reluctantly, hands returned from nether regions, buttons buttoned, pleats smoothed.  Oliver ran his fingers through Ron’s wildly mussed hair. “Sorry about pulling you away from your officiating.”

“I’m not.  I hate giving speeches.”

Oliver laughed; it rumbled low and full through his chest.  “Well, then, I’m glad I could take your mind off it.”  He offered Ron his hand “Shall we?  And then, shall we continue this somewhere else more … private?”

Ron smiled and took his hand.

*~*  11:59pm  Ron’s flat

Ron thought Oliver’s kisses were the finest he’d ever had.  They were hot and sexy and insistent and exciting.  And his fingers, which had nearly brought him to climax earlier, were now doing delightfully delicious things to his nipples.  But if Ron had thought Oliver’s kisses and fingers were talented, they were nothing compared to his mouth.  Oh, sweet Godric’s balls!  The man knew his way around a cock, and he was giving Ron a full and thorough demonstration.

Ron moaned.  _If I die tonight, I will go happily sated and ready._   Oliver nibbled on the slit of the head, sending another hot wash of passion through Ron.  “Fuck, Oliver.  Fuck, this is so fucking good.”

Oliver hummed around the entire length.  Never had Ron had so exquisite a blow job.  Oh, yeah, Seamus was competent enough, and that other bloke-- _What the hell was his name?  Fuck it, who cares?_ \--he could give nice head too.  But Oliver—Oliver was a king amongst kings, the Pope of bishop bashing, the -- _Oh, I am a very lucky man tonight_.  With a final long pull, Ron came with an appreciative shout.  And Oliver—bless him!—captured every drop with perfectly timed swallows.

“Fuck,” Ron panted. “Fuck, Oliver.  That was bloody brilliant.”

"‘Mmm….” Oliver slithered up to kiss him, gently shoving his come-covered tongue into Ron’s mouth.  Ron suckled the tongue, enjoying in an odd way the sweet-bitter taste of himself on such a wondrous and talented organ.

“Liked that, did you?”  Oliver said.  “I love a man who loves to come.  Did I properly thank you for the equally lovely one you gave me?”

“I don’t know.”  Ron dreamily reached for Oliver’s cock, which was hard and ready to go again.  “Let me thank _you_ again.

Oliver sighed happily, rolling over onto his back as Ron nuzzled between his thighs.  “You are so very welcome.”

*~*  2:32am  Still in Ron’s flat

Ron arched as Oliver’s cock slid back and forth under his balls, his hot hands tweaking Ron’s nipples in that pleasure-pain way that always made Ron pant.  Oliver was so hard that it pressed just enough on his prostate to make him see sparks.   Suddenly, Oliver released one nipple and found his aching prick, slick with precome.  Three perfectly timed pulls and an especially well-targeted press on his sack, and Ron was coming again with a groan.

“Oliver,” Ron breathed.  “You’re going to kill me.”

Oliver covered his mouth to muffle any more declarations of death.

*~* 3:08am  Yep, still at Ron’s flat

Oliver sighed as Ron pulled heavily one more time on his rapidly softening cock.  “Brilliant, just brilliant,” he whispered.  He snuggled sleepily into Ron’s side; Ron reached for and covered them with the duvet.

*~*  6:35am  Still in Ron’s flat

“More.  Oh god, more.”

Oliver slid a third finger into Ron’s entrance.  “Christ, you’re tight as a virgin, Ron.  When’s the last time you did this?”

That wasn’t a question Ron was prepared to answer at that moment, seeing as every brain cell, as well as most of his precious life-giving blood currently resided in his cock and arse.  “Don’t know; usually top.”

“Oh, shall I--?”

_”Fuck, NO!_ Don’t you dare stop.  God, this is fantastic.”

“Maybe you’re really a bottom.”

Ron giggled, nervous with anticipation.  “At my height, not many can reach my arse or handle my legs.  God, it’s so wonderful to have sex with a man more my size.”

“Liked ‘em small, did you?”  Oliver shifted one of Ron’s legs to rest more comfortably on his shoulder.  He reached between then to rub lubricant on his cock. 

“Take what comes my way,” Ron grunted.  “I’m more than ready.”

“Yes, you are.”  Oliver positioned the blunt head of his cock at Ron’s sleekly lubed entrance.  

As Oliver’s ample length slid in, Ron’s heart swelled.  He wasn’t often bottom, for sure, mostly due to mechanics.  But the feeling of being filled with a large cock while hot lips met his was superbly moving.  He felt taken and needed, loved and appreciated.  Oliver sighed in his ear—Ron enjoyed the fact that Oliver was tall enough to whisper naughty words in his ear and kiss his lips whilst fucking him thoroughly.  “You are so fucking beautiful.  Your arse is gorgeous.  It’s now mine, mine, Ron.  I’m gonna come, and come, and come again.”  He reached between them and found Ron’s cock.  “C’mon, Ron.  Come too.  Come for me.”

Well, who was Ron to disappoint Oliver Wood?  He kissed Oliver hard, thrusting his tongue in tandem with each thrust in his arse, and with a final, deep grind from Oliver, Ron came.  Oliver tipped into his orgasm just seconds later.  Ron was exhilarated he could make Oliver come at nearly the same second he did.  The two lay panting, sweating, and weakly patting each other.

Rolling off, Oliver laid on his back, one hand pressed to Ron’s chest.  “By—god—but—that—was—good.”

Ron smiled weakly.  “Best I’ve had in a long while.  Maybe ever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

After a while, Oliver rolled back to face him.  “Ron, I’m very glad I came to Harry and Hermione’s wedding.  I wasn’t going to, not with being traded to Appleby and finding a new place to live and new teammates to get to know.  But Harry’s always been a good friend to me.  He and Hermione both.  They’ve given me unconditional support when I was coming out, going through my first broken heart, being frustrated with my career.”  He swallowed and looked utterly vulnerable.  “I have to confess, tonight was something of a set-up.  They told me you were…you played for our team, and that you’ve had some tough times finding someone.  I wasn’t so sure, but…everything Harry and Hermione’ve told me was true.  You _are_ brilliant.”

Ron was so taken by surprise by Oliver’s revelations that he simply stared at him for a moment, fishmouthing.  “Wow…I…feel the same way.”

Oliver touched his cheek.  “I want to see you again.  And not just in”—he checked the clock beside the bed—“under seven hours.  I mean, again.  Properly. Go out with me?”

Ron didn’t hesitate.  “Of course.  Thanks,” he finished shyly.

Oliver kissed him, his lips lingering sweetly.  “I hate to shag and run.  It’s not my style, but, there’s a wedding to go to.  You have a couple of tasks this morning as best man.  Don’t forget, or Hermione will come down on _my_ head.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll see you later.”

Ron watched in appreciation as Oliver went about his bedroom gathering up his clothing.  Nothing gave him greater pleasure than to watched a truly beautiful man dress (except when for undressing, of course.)  When Oliver strapped on his kilt, Ron propped himself up in bed.  “Will you be wearing the kilt again?”

Oliver grinned wolfishly.  “Like it, do you?  Yes, except today I’ll be wearing the more formal one.”

“There’s a difference?”

“I’ll let you tell me.”

With that, Oliver Apparated away.

Ron rolled onto his back, sighing deeply and contentedly.  And fell promptly asleep.

*~* 7:08am  Still in bed

Ron slept peacefully.  Still.

*~*  8:43am  Oh yeah, still in bed

Ron still slept.

*~* 9:02am  Unfortunately, still in bed

“RON!”

Ron woke with a snort and a start.  “Wha--?”

Hermione Granger stood at the foot of his bed in a white satin bathrobe, her hair in curlers and her face covered in a light green goo.  Though, at this point, her face was more red than green.  “You were supposed to pick up the flowers at eight o’clock.  The florist came in specially at that hour to give them to you.  I expected you at 8:48 with my rose headpiece.”

“Oh, fuck!” Ron exclaimed.  “Oh, god, Hermione. I’m sorry!”

“We asked you to do four things for us for our wedding.  You’ve fucked up two of them.  Are you going to make it a clean sweep before the day is out?”  Then, she burst into tears.

Ron jumped out of bed, quickly wrapping the sheet about his naked body.  “Aw, Hermione, don’t cry.  I’m sorry, I really am.”  He put his arms around her.  “I can’t believe I missed the appointment.  I reckon I forgot to set the alarm.”

Her tears sent the mask running down her face and onto the collar of her bathrobe.  “More like you haven’t been to sleep at all, have you?”  She managed a small grin. 

“Oh yeah, I’ve slept.  Just now.”  He hugged her.  “Thanks for telling Oliver about me, for setting us up.”

“Well, I can’t take any credit for that.  It was Harry’s doing.  But, has it worked out?”

“Spectacularly, so far.”

Hermione sniffed once more, and tried to wipe the tears from her face; she grimaced.  “Eww, I hate this stuff.  Ginny and Padma convinced me it would make my face soft.”

“It’s pretty damn frightful.”

“I can imagine.”

“Hermione, how can I make this right?”

“Fortunately for you, your best friend has connections.”  She handed him a small, sparkling Time Turner.  “I kept the one the Order had on hand for emergencies.  I thought you might like to make this up to me.  One and half turns should do it, and make it snappy.  But before you go, shower, please.”

“You’re the best.”

“Please don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t.  I promise.”

*~*  8:01am  Diagon Alley Florals

“Ah, Mr. Weasley.  Right on time!” Craigan Grey said pleasantly.  “Come to retrieve the flowers for the Granger-Potter wedding?”

“Yeah.  Do you have time to make up a special order for me?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve yellow roses.  I’m afraid I used up all of them in the bridal party nosegays.”

“No,” Ron said, “not yellow.”

*~* 8:39am  Ron’s flat

Oliver had Ron up against the shower wall.  “You—are—so—fucking—hot.”  He punctuated each word with a thrust.  He reached around and took Ron’s cock, and pumped it hard.  “Come now.”

Ron strangled out a “Fuck!” as he came.  He was sweating even though the shower water was cooling.  “You’re gonna kill me, man.  Either you, or Hermione.”

Oliver laughed.  “You went back to sleep, didn’t you?”

“Twice.  I’m on my second eight o’clock hour.”  Ron turned and kissed him.  “As much as I’ve enjoyed this, if I don’t deliver these flowers, Hermione will beat you to the killing.”

Oliver threw him a towel.  “I would be a sorry wizard to come between a witch and her wedding day bouquet.  Need some help?”

Ron grinned in relief.  “From you?  Absolutely!”

*~* 11:50am  Harry’s house

“Let me do that.”  Ron slapped Harry’s trembling fingers from the lopsided bowtie.  He tugged on the end with a flourish and began to re-tie it.

“Ron, you may be a gay man, but you’re lacking in the sartorial skills of your brethren,” Harry laughed.  “Just try not to strangle me.”

“Shut it, and stand still.” 

Ron concentrated on getting the bow to flare correctly; three attempts, and he was satisfied.

Harry looked in the mirror.  “That’s the best one yet.”

Ron turned to look at him in the mirror.  The mirror sighed, “Such handsome wizards.”

They looked at each other and sniggered.  “You’ve charmed it, haven’t you?” Ron accused.

“Just a bit.”

They primped a moment more, Ron trying to pat down a particularly vicious cowlick at the crown of Harry’s head.  “Ron, you do have Hermione’s ring, don’t you?” Harry asked.

Ron froze.  “Oh, shite.”

As he pulled out Hermione’s Time Turner, he Disapparated.

*~*  2:22pm

Ron was dancing jauntily with Oliver.  The band played an excellent selection of tunes, tunes Ron found he thoroughly enjoyed dancing to.  It could have also been because of his most excellent partner.

“So, you’ve completed your tasks as best man, have you?”  Oliver asked as he kissed Ron’s right earlobe.

“Well, not entirely.  Still have to give the toast.”

“When’s that?”

“Not exactly sure.  Suppose it’ll be when they serve the cake and champagne.”

Oliver looked around.  “Looks like we have some time.  Want to find out why this is my formal kilt?” he said with a wicked grin.

Ron pulled away.  “I think I already know.  But why don’t you show me?”

He tugged on Oliver’s hand.  As they wove their way through the dancing crowd, family and friends stopped them to speak to them and congratulate them for getting together. As they finished spinning two of the bridesmaids, they made it to the far corner of the garden where the shadows made it a delightful place for a surreptitious assignation.

Oliver pulled Ron behind a tree, and gave him a breath-stealing kiss.  Ron returned it with great enthusiasm.  “So,” Ron said, “tell me why this is your ‘formal’ kilt, which looks smashing on you, by the way.  Nice legs.”

“Thank you,” he said brightly.  “Why don’t you find out?”

Ron grinned and ran his hands up his hard thighs.  Oliver’s eyes rolled up and back into his head as Ron found something very interesting.

“I wondered what the hell you did with that rose,” Ron said, laughing.  “I was going to be offended that you’d tossed it aside.  But I find”—he gave Oliver’s rose-wrapped cock a pull—“I would’ve been mistaken.”

Oliver laughed.  “Would you, now?”

“Mmm-hmm.  So, shall I make sure the thorns have all been removed?  I remember asking the floral arranger to make sure he had.”

Oliver put his arms around Ron’s neck, his eyes dancing with mirth.  “Why don’t you find out?”

Ron dropped to his knees, parted his robes and lifted the apron of Oliver’s bright kilt.

Oliver felt his blood rush south.  And then as the bride came towards them, it chilled.

“RON!”

 

*~*


End file.
